


Want You to Want Me

by doctorkaitlyn



Series: you want a piece of my heart (you better start from the start) [2]
Category: Buzzfeed Unsolved (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Banter, Established Relationship, Fluff, Frottage, Hand Jobs, Literal Sleeping Together, M/M, Making Out, Non-Explicit Sex, Podfic Available
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-13
Updated: 2018-01-13
Packaged: 2019-03-04 11:07:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,368
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13363386
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doctorkaitlyn/pseuds/doctorkaitlyn
Summary: In which Ryan and Shane continue to bicker about the existence of ghosts (and orbs), become the guests of honor at one of TJ's parties, put Ryan's bed to good use, and fall asleep together, in that exact order.





	Want You to Want Me

**Author's Note:**

> technically, this could probably be read as a standalone, but it will probably make way more sense having read the first part in the series! 
> 
> title from [I Want You to Want Me](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2wyL1NtMVPo) by Cheap Trick.

“Ryan, you’re an idiot.” 

“I swear to God, Shane, if you just _listen_...” Ryan presses the rewind button on his video camera, goes back ten seconds, and presses play. The sound that they’re debating is faint, almost buried underneath the thud of their footsteps on the warehouse’s concrete floor, but Ryan still knows a damn scream when he hears one. “That’s a woman screaming. How do you not hear it?” 

“That is a damn _owl_ ,” Shane counters. His arms are wrapped around Ryan’s waist, and his chin is resting on his shoulder, so when Shane speaks, the words brush over the side of his neck “I _saw_ the owl when we were walking out of the warehouse.” 

“But did you see it make that exact sound?” Ryan asks, turning the camera off and reluctantly moving away from Shane as the elevator slides open, letting them out onto the hallway leading to Ryan’s apartment. 

“Did you see the supposed ghost make that exact sound?” Shane retorts. 

“Not all haunted places have apparitions,” Ryan answers without pause, glancing over at Shane’s face, which is twisted into a perfectly ridiculous expression of disbelief and exasperation. “Some just have sounds or cold spots or orbs-”

“God, not the fucking orbs again,” Shane groans loudly, dramatically slapping one hand to his face. “I can take this ghost bullshit, Ryan, but _orbs_?” 

“Hey!” Ryan laughs, holding his hands up defensively, face cracking into a grin as Shane continues to groan. “I’m not an orb guy! But...” He trails off as they reach his apartment. He can feel music rumbling in the very floor; he’d noticed it vaguely when they’d first stepped out of the elevator, but now that he’s standing in front of his apartment, it’s unmistakably the source of the sound. There are voices as well, more than could just belong to TJ and some of his friends, all of them overlapping and mixing together. “Huh. I didn’t know we were having a party tonight.” 

“Were you too distracted by ghost hunting to remember TJ’s birthday?” 

“If there was anything that could distract me from his birthday, it would be you,” Ryan answers honestly, and Shane’s face lights up in a smile. “But no, his birthday isn’t until February. I have no idea what this is.” His keys are in his pocket, but before he reaches for them, he tries the door, which swings open freely. The volume of the music spikes as they step inside. There’s a sloppy pile of shoes in the hallway, and Ryan decides to leave his own on until they’re in his bedroom; the last thing he needs is someone stealing his Jordans.

The living room is crammed with people, only a handful of which Ryan actually recognizes. The music is coming from someone’s phone, which is plugged into the speaker system they usually use for watching movies or playing video games, and as Ryan weaves through people to try to get to the kitchen, the song changes from one eighties power-pop ballad to another. 

“Ryan!” The voice comes from behind him, and as he turns around, TJ stumbles into him, grinning from ear to ear, swaying on his feet. “I wasn’t sure if you were gonna come home tonight!” 

“What’s the occasion?” Ryan asks, waving one arm around the apartment. TJ just shrugs, shoulders leaping up to his ears, like a puppet whose strings were just roughly jerked. 

“It’s a Saturday, and I wanted to party!” Turning to Shane, he continues, “You better be treating my boy right or we’re gonna have some words.” 

“Oh my _God_ ,” Ryan groans. He almost appreciates the sentiment, but TJ is barely intimidating at the best of times, and when he’s drunk, it’s like a teddy bear trying to threaten someone. He barely hears Shane laugh above the din of the crowd.

“Don’t worry, man. I’m treating him as well as I know how.” 

“Good!” TJ declares, clapping one hand onto Shane’s shoulder and giving him a slight shake. “Keep it that way! I gotta go find Zack. Grab some beer!” With that, he turns on his heel and starts weaving his way back through the crowd, holding his beer up above his head so it doesn’t spill. 

“He’s going to be so goddamn hungover tomorrow,” Ryan says once they’ve finally made it to the kitchen. “Hope we have some ibuprofen.” 

“You might need a bucket too,” Shane comments. The kitchen is a little less crowded, and they manage to get through it and down the hallway leading to Ryan’s room without incident. His door is closed, and there’s a handmade sign, made of lined paper raggedly torn from a notebook, attached to it with clear tape. Written on it in black marker are the words _stay out or Ryan will straight up murder you_. “At least he was nice enough to do that for you.” 

“Hopefully, people listened to it,” Ryan answers, tentatively twisting the doorknob, sure that, despite TJ’s efforts, there will be people screwing in his bed or just rummaging through his stuff. Thankfully, his room is exactly as he left it, and he gratefully closes the door, carefully shrugs his backpack to the floor, and sets his camera on his desk before he drops onto his bed.

“Everything alright?” Shane asks, stretching out beside him. Even with the top of his head brushing the headboard, his feet are hanging over the edge of the mattress. 

“Yeah,” Ryan says, sliding a little closer, until their knees are touching. “Just tired.” He’s fairly certain that he’s actually going through an adrenaline crash; the warehouse they’d explored for their latest ghost hunting date (the fifth they’ve gone on so far) had honestly been the physical embodiment of hell on earth. Abandoned a decade ago when an investigation had brought to light the incredibly unsafe and unethical practices that were commonplace there, it’d been a maze of rooms so massive and dark that their flashlights had barely pierced through the blackness. Every time he spun around, he expected to see something standing immediately behind him, something towering and demonic and all around horrifying. 

Thankfully, that hadn’t happened but, disappointingly, neither had anything that would have been _definitively_ proven that the place was actually haunted. He was kind of hoping to spend some time before bed reviewing the footage he’d captured, just in case there was something that he missed, but he’s pretty sure that not even his noise-canceling headphones could block out the sheer volume of the party. 

“We can go to my place if you want,” Shane says. “Or we can just stay in here. Pretty sure that TJ’s going to forget you even came home if he keeps drinking.” 

“Probably,” Ryan laughs, rolling onto his side so that he's facing Shane. “I could go for a beer though.” He doesn’t want to get swept up into the madness of the party, but it _is_ a Saturday, and he doesn’t have much studying to do tomorrow. A drink or two won’t be the end of the world, and then he can get some sleep, either in his own bed or Shane’s. 

“Okay.” One of Shane’s hands drops to his waist and simply _spans_ there, and Ryan can feel its warmth through his shirt. “I guess we probably shouldn’t start making out then. Not if we want to get those beers.” 

“Probably not.” It pains Ryan to say it, because making out with Shane is definitely in his list of his top five favorite things to do, but if he doesn’t get up now, he’s pretty sure he’s going to stay in bed for the rest of the night, so he reluctantly slides away from Shane’s hand and sits up. Even though the vocals of the song playing in the living room are a little muffled, the beat sounds familiar, like yet another eighties pop song, and he idly wonders who is in charge of the music selection. “One drink. And then we can make out.” 

“Deal.” Ryan doesn’t expect Shane’s mouth to press against the side of his neck, right underneath the hinge of his jaw, as he gets off the bed, and the moan that drops from his mouth is almost absurdly loud. When he glances up, Shane is staring down at him, eyes wide, mouth open slightly. After a moment, he clears his throat and offers his hand out to Ryan. “Alright. Beer first. Then we’re _definitely_ coming back here.” 

“Yeah,” Ryan says, taking Shane’s hand and squeezing it tightly. “Definitely.” 

&.

They score two beers from the rapidly depleting fridge and end up leaning against the kitchen counter; the living room is still packed with people, and Ryan’s pretty sure that he’d just end up spilling his drink if he tried to find a comfortable spot in there. There’s a group of people playing poker at the kitchen table, and Ryan nods at the ones he recognizes but doesn’t join the game when they try to lure him in. 

“This seems to be a trend for us,” Shane remarks from where he’s pressed against Ryan’s side, taking a sip from his beer. “Kitchens, I mean. Know any stairwells we can visit next?” 

Ryan wheezes. 

“You seriously want to brave that crowd so I can take you on a tour of the building’s stairwells?” After a moment of staring up at the ceiling in consideration, Shane shrugs. 

“Maybe after a few more drinks. Can’t violate tradition, after all.” 

“You have a weird idea of what constitutes tradition,” Ryan says, nudging Shane with his elbow. 

“Maybe. You don’t seem to mind.” 

He’s not wrong, and Ryan’s pretty sure that if he tries to deny it, he’s going to just end up spluttering like a fool, so he settles for mumbling, “Shut up,” into the neck of his beer and steadfastly refuses to look over at Shane, who he _knows_ is grinning like the cat that caught the canary.

Eventually, they end up locked in a debate about their earlier ghost hunting adventure; Ryan swears that there were a few times when he heard footsteps when they weren’t moving, which makes it _impossible_ that it was an echo, but Shane insists it was exactly that, or the wind, or an animal scuttling around, and he just looks so smugly _certain_ of himself that Ryan is stuck between wanting to strangle him or kiss the look off his face. 

Before he can make a decision, TJ breezes into the room, warbling loudly (and badly) to the latest track playing in the living room. He yanks open the fridge, grabs one of the last beers littering the shelves, and pauses in front of them, grinning crookedly. 

“You two should be in there dancing!” he says, voice far too loud for how close he is to them. “I’ll get Zack to put something fun on! It’ll be great!” With that, he breezes right back out of the room, and Ryan blinks a few times, just to make sure he didn’t imagine the encounter. 

“We should.” 

Disbelievingly, Ryan glances over at Shane and raises an eyebrow. “You’re saying we should dance?” Shane nods. “Dude, I can’t dance.” 

“And you think I can?” Shane replies, polishing off his beer and dropping it onto the counter. “I mean, I can do this.” He throws his arms into the air and wiggles his entire body. He looks completely _ridiculous_ , and Ryan bursts out laughing and reaches up to grab Shane’s wrists and pull his arms back down. 

“You look like a piece of spaghetti. Or one of those tube men they have at used car lots,” he wheezes. 

“They _wish_ they had this handsome mug,” Shane scoffs, waving in the general direction of his face. “Also, I don’t think anyone is really dancing in there. I think it’s more like... rocking back and forth? Rhythmic swaying?” 

It doesn’t sound like his ideal kind of fun, but Ryan’s fairly sure he can manage rhythmically swaying for a few moments, if only because he suspects that if he doesn’t show his face in the living room within the next few minutes, TJ will probably reappear and physically drag him into it, and if Ryan _has_ to dance (or rhythmically sway) with someone, he’d rather it be with his boyfriend. 

(They’ve been officially dating for just over a month, but even just thinking about the word still makes a wave of warmth flood through him.) 

“Fuck it,” he says, polishing off his own beer and dropping it into the kitchen sink. Automatically, he reaches for Shane’s hand. “Two songs, max. And then I’m done with this night.” 

“You say that now,” Shane says, linking their fingers together and following Ryan towards the living room. “Maybe you’ll get addicted to the rhythms and we’ll be here all night.” 

“You say the _weirdest_ fucking things,” Ryan says, raising his voice to be heard; the living room seems slightly less crowded, but the music is as loud as ever, and bursts of laughter and conversation keep erupting like fireworks. 

“You’re the one who said, in all seriousness, that a bear could defeat a shark. That’s way fucking weirder.” 

“I won that debate, and you know it,” Ryan responds. There’s a small sliver of space in the back corner of the room near the balcony doors, and he turns around so that his back is to the wall. When he glances around Shane’s side, he ends up accidentally locking eyes with TJ. He’s standing beside the speakers, engrossed in close conversation with Zack, but as soon as he clues in that Ryan is in the room (Ryan can _see_ the recognition flicker and spark in his eyes), he sharply elbows Zack in the side, points to Ryan, to the speakers, and back again. Zack looks up at him and flashes a thumbs up before he ducks to his phone and starts tapping at the screen. 

Ryan groans and tilts his body so that Shane is mostly blocking the view of the rest of the room. At the very least, he’s blocking Ryan’s view of TJ and Zack. 

He already regrets leaving the kitchen. 

“Technically, we never _finished_ that debate, and I would have won fair and square,” Shane argues, dropping his hands to Ryan’s hips. He hunches over so that their foreheads are touching, and just like that, it feels like the rest of the world has dropped away, like it’s just the two of them in the room, even though Ryan could easily touch someone else by just extending his arm and leaning a little bit. 

“Whatever helps you sleep at night, man. That can’t be good for your back,” he says, running his hands up Shane’s sides before he links his arms around his neck. 

“Uh-huh, go ahead and change the subject, you know I’m right. Also, tromping around in condemned warehouses and dark basements isn’t good for your health in general, but that doesn’t stop you from doing it.”

“Doesn’t stop _you_ from coming with me.” 

“Well, _someone_ has to make sure that you don’t kill yourself, and I don’t trust anyone else with the job.” Shane says it so flippantly, but he averts his eyes when he says it, and Ryan is nearly bowled over by a wave of absolute fondness. 

“Well, don’t worry big guy,” he replies. “I don’t plan on offering anyone else the job anytime soon.” 

“Good,” Shane murmurs, dropping a quick kiss to Ryan’s temple, and it’s all Ryan can do to not say fuck it and drag Shane off to his bedroom. 

After a few moments, he finds that, regardless of his plans, he’s swaying absently to the song that’s playing, which is slower than he expects, although it definitely still fits into the eighties power-pop genre that seems to be the theme of the night. When he looks up, he sees that Shane’s eyes are closed, and there’s a half-smile gracing his lips, and he looks so effortlessly handsome that Ryan wants to photograph it, or somehow record it in physical form. 

“This kinda reminds me of my senior prom,” Ryan mutters, closing his own eyes. Shane laughs quietly. 

“My prom was actually considerably more awkward than this. And my suit was the _worst_.” 

“Did you try to cut your own hair for it too?” Ryan asks, sliding his fingers up the back of Shane’s neck.

“As a matter of fact, yes,” Shane answers, softly pinching Ryan’s hip, “and it was the best part of my overall look by far.” 

“I need to see pictures of this. I can’t believe you’ve held out on me this long.” 

“I have to spread this kind of material out,” Shane says. “Otherwise you’re going to realize that I’m actually a really boring guy, and you’ve made a hell of a mistake.”

Ryan is about ninety percent sure that Shane’s joking, but the hint of doubt he hears is enough to make him stop swaying and open his eyes. It’s probably not the best venue for a serious conversation, but he doesn’t want to gloss over this, doesn’t want it to be something they don’t ever address simply because it’s easier to ignore it. 

“You’re not a mistake,” he says, wrapping his arms tighter around Shane’s neck. “Okay? And you’re definitely not boring.” Shane slowly blinks his eyes open, and he looks so vulnerable that Ryan is momentarily afraid he’s somehow said something totally wrong, crossed over a line that he didn’t even know existed. 

“Thanks,” Shane says after a moment, so quiet that Ryan can barely hear him over the music. His eyes flick down to Ryan’s lips, and Ryan decides to meet him halfway, cranes his head up so that he can catch Shane’s mouth with his own. Shane’s arms tighten around his waist, and Ryan slides his hand up into Shane’s hair, leans up on his tiptoes so that Shane doesn’t have to do all of the work. It doesn’t turn into a messy kiss; they barely even open their mouths, but it’s firm, and Shane is holding him so tightly that Ryan’s chest starts to ache even before his lungs profess an urgent need to breathe. 

When he does pull away, still holding tightly to Shane, eyes closed, he mumbles, “Want to go back to my room?” 

“If that’s alright,” Shane answers, slowly sliding his arms away from Ryan’s waist. “Unless you think TJ is going to drag us back out here.” 

“Don’t worry, I have a foolproof method for preventing that.” Stepping away from the wall, Ryan starts making his way back through the crowd. He briefly hears TJ’s voice rise above all the other sounds, something about the next song being dedicated to him, but he simply waves backwards so that he doesn’t risk getting pulled back into the fray. The poker game is still going on in the kitchen, but everyone is so enthralled by their cards (or too busy sleeping with their head resting on the table) that no one even glances up as they walk by. 

Once they’ve made it back to Ryan’s bedroom, he grabs a sock from his drawer, hangs it on the knob, and closes the door. He’s sure that he’s probably going to be mercilessly tormented tomorrow, but that’s a problem for then. For now, at the very least, he shouldn’t have to worry about TJ trying to drag him back out into the party. 

(If TJ is drunk enough that he violates the sacred sock on the doorknob rule, Ryan is fairly certain that he’s drunk enough to have to go to the hospital.) 

“We should be good now.” Turning around, he jumps slightly, not expecting Shane to be standing so damn close to him, almost toe to toe. 

Not that he minds. He especially doesn’t mind when Shane drops his hands to his face, so that he’s cradling Ryan’s jaw in his palms, and leans back down to continue where they left off in the living room. 

He doesn’t mind that one bit. 

Ryan leans back so that he’s pressed against the door and hooks his fingers into the front of Shane’s sweater, tugs him forward so they’re as close as possible. Shane’s hands slide down his jaw and neck, down his chest and around to his lower back. After a moment of resting there, they keep going until they’re tucked into the back pockets of his jeans, and Ryan gasps against Shane’s mouth. 

“That okay?” Shane asks. Ryan nods emphatically and tucks his head into the junction of Shane’s neck and shoulder.

“Fuck yeah,” he murmurs in between pressing hard kisses to Shane’s long neck. Shane groans, and his hands _squeeze_ , which makes Ryan’s knees go a little bit weak. “But I think we’ve been on our feet enough for one day.” 

“You’re not wrong,” Shane says, walking backwards towards the bed, hands still tucked in Ryan’s pockets. “Also, there was too much ghost hunting and not enough kissing.” 

“There was the perfect amount of ghost hunting, actually,” Ryan counters, carefully stepping over his backpack. "But we can make up for the kissing now.” 

“Good,” Shane says, sliding his hands out of Ryan’s pockets and dropping down onto the edge of the bed. Even though they’ve barely touched each other, his hair is already a tousled mess, sticking up in half a dozen different spots, and his pupils are wide. “Because we’ve got a _lot_ to make up for.” 

“Why, Mr. Madej, that almost sounds like a challenge,” Ryan comments, lightly pushing Shane backwards and climbing onto the bed after him. He waits until Shane is situated the right way, head up against the pillows, before he slides on top of him, knees astride his narrow hips. “Was it?” 

“Maybe,” Shane smirks, sliding his hands up the back of Ryan’s shirt when Ryan leans over to press their foreheads together. “What would you do if it was?” 

Ryan doesn’t bother to answer that verbally. Instead, he tilts his head and kisses Shane again, hands planted to the sides of Shane’s neck. Shane’s pulse is rabbiting against his palm, and it makes him groan, just being able to feel that Shane is definitely into this as much as he is. Shane’s hands splay across his back, and his fingers are so damn _long_ that, not for the first time, Ryan’s thoughts briefly wander to what they would feel like crooked inside of him. 

They aren’t at that stage, yet, and even if they were, he’s too tired for anything quite that energetic, but still, it’s one _hell_ of a thought. 

When he yanks away to breathe, lip aching slightly from Shane’s teeth pressing into it, Shane’s fingers wrap into the hem of his shirt and tug it up slightly, towards his shoulders. Before he can ask, Ryan leans back onto his knees, yanks it over his head and tosses it across the room towards the general direction of his laundry hamper. Shane makes a low sound in his throat as his fingers slide around Ryan’s back to his chest, and even though it isn’t the first time it’s happened, Ryan immediately flushes from head to toe. 

“What?” he asks. Shane just shakes his head and smiles up at him. 

“Nothing,” he says, hands smoothing down Ryan’s stomach to curl around his thighs. “You’re just...” The words trail off, and instead of finishing the sentence, he just groans again, leans up on his elbows, and meets Ryan halfway for another kiss. 

Shane’s shirts only last until the next time they need to breathe. While he wrestles them off, bony elbows waving through the air, Ryan moves across the room to turn off the overhead light; it’s a little too bright and glaring to be much more than a mood killer.

“If you had to guess,” he says as he crosses the room again, navigating by the strip of light coming from underneath the bedroom door and the orange glow from the streetlights outside, “would you say you’re seventy-five percent leg or eighty? Maybe even eighty-five?” 

“You’re just jealous,” Shane says, sitting up and yanking Ryan back onto the bed by his belt loops. Ryan ends up landing half on top of him, and the next few moments dissolve into a flurry of tangled limbs and wheezed laughter as they both try to figure out what they’re doing. Ryan catches both of Shane’s sharp elbows in his ribs, and Ryan’s foot connects with Shane’s shin hard enough for Shane to curse. 

“Listen,” Shane says eventually, wrapping his large hands around Ryan’s wrists, “if you were going to try and kill me tonight, you should have done it at that creepy warehouse.” 

“Ha!” Ryan exclaims triumphantly, trying and failing to wriggle out of Shane’s surprisingly strong grip. “So you do admit it was creepy!” 

“Of course it was fucking creepy!” Shane responds as he rolls on top of Ryan. “But that doesn’t mean that it’s haunted!” 

Ryan has a clever retort to that; really, he does. However, before he can use it, Shane’s hips drop down against his, and all intelligent thought flies from his mind once he realizes that, despite the momentary interruption to their making out, Shane is very, very hard.

Which is convenient, because so is Ryan. 

“Maybe we should shut up for now?” he asks, splaying his legs apart and gasping as Shane rocks down against him. “We can talk about why you think I want to kill you after.” 

“Yeah,” Shane says, burying a groan into the side of Ryan’s neck. “Okay.” He lets go of Ryan’s wrists and moves his hands to his hips instead, curls them just above the waistband of his jeans. “One last question though.” 

“Better be a good one,” Ryan replies, leaning up so that he can mouth at the sharp jut of Shane’s collarbone. It takes a few moments for Shane to answer; his hands tighten on Ryan’s hips, and his hips rock forward again, harder this time, hard enough for Ryan to nip at his collarbone.

“Could we take these off?” he eventually asks. One of his fingers slides just underneath the button of Ryan’s jeans and strokes slightly, and the teasingly soft touch is enough to make a shudder pass through Ryan’s body. “Would that be alright?” 

“Yeah,” he groans, reaching out until he finds Shane’s hips. “Definitely.” He traces his fingers along Shane’s waistband for a moment, just to hear him breathe in sharply, just to feel the muscles under his skin tense and flutter, and then, after taking a deep steadying breath of his own, he presses his palm to the front of Shane’s jeans, curls his fingers around the hard outline of Shane’s dick. 

“ _Fuck_ ,” Shane groans roughly, which makes Ryan’s breath hitch. His fingers start working at Ryan’s pants, and even though his mind feels glazed over, Ryan still can’t help but notice that there’s an interesting correlation between the times Shane’s fingers fumble and the times Ryan’s fingers trace the outline of him through his jeans. Eventually, Shane manages to get the job done, and his fingers hook into the bands of both Ryan’s jeans and boxers. He pauses with the backs of his knuckles brushing against Ryan’s hipbones. 

“Still okay?” he asks, voice brushing against Ryan’s mouth. Ryan nods and leans up for a quick kiss that still manages to leave his mouth aching. 

“Never been better,” he answers truthfully, attempting to reach for Shane’s belt. Before he can get his hands on it, Shane slides down the bed, out of his reach, taking Ryan’s pants and boxers with him. 

His room is warm, but the sudden exposure of so much of his skin at once makes Ryan want to dive under his blanket. He manages to resist, because he’s pretty sure they would just end up tangled up in it, and also because he hears Shane’s belt clinking at the foot of the bed. He’s standing in just the right spot to be exempt from most of the glow coming from the streetlights, and Ryan can just make out his outline, his shadow. 

It’s a good thing that he knows it’s Shane, because he’s pretty sure if he woke up to see that shadow standing over his bed, or glanced over into a darkened corner of one of the sites they’ve been to and saw it hovering there, he’d actually drop dead of sheer fear. 

“Did you get lost down there?” he asks, sliding back up the bed so that his head is against the pillows. 

“Listen, jackass,” Shane responds. His voice is followed by the soft thump of his pants sliding to the floor and the mattress shifting as he climbs back onto it. “Weren’t we supposed to be shutting up?” 

“Theoretically,” Ryan says, trying to keep his voice from wavering as he shifts his legs apart so that Shane can fit between them. It feels like his heart is going to beat right out of his chest; they’ve given each other hand jobs before, but it’s never been quite like this, never been with all of their clothes entirely off, never been with the soft, subtle glow of streetlights filtering through the window.

“You and all your damn theories,” Shane mutters. One of his hands runs up the outside of Ryan’s thigh to his hip and gently tugs him a little closer. “You’re lucky I like you.” 

Ryan has plenty of well-practiced, snappy responses he could reel out in response to that, but when Shane’s long fingers wrap around him, he decides that now is not the time. 

Instead, he says, gasping midway through the sentence when Shane’s hand moves slightly, “Yeah. I really am.” 

There isn’t a lot of coherent talking to be had after that. Mainly, it’s just gasps and curses, individual words interrupted by groans that are buried against skin. They kiss for awhile, but eventually it dissolves into their mouths just hovering near each other, both of them panting for breath. At some point, Ryan’s free hand ends up twisted in Shane’s short hair, keeping him close by, even though he’s pretty sure Shane has no intention of getting up to leave anytime soon. He doesn’t mean to necessarily pull it, but Shane suddenly does some kind of twisting thing with his wrist that makes sparks fly behind Ryan’s closed eyes, and when he jerks reflexively, he definitely yanks a little too hard. 

Before he can even start to think of apologizing, Shane comes, moaning Ryan’s name as he does, free hand squeezing Ryan’s waist tightly. 

Frankly, there’s no way in hell Ryan could hold himself back after that, even if he wanted to.

Shane doesn’t roll away from him right away; thankfully, he also doesn’t drop his weight down onto Ryan. Instead, even though Ryan can feel his shoulders shaking with effort, he drops down to his elbows and simply rests his forehead against Ryan’s, gasping quietly for breath. 

“So,” Ryan says eventually, when he feels like he can breathe again. His fingers are still wrapped in Shane’s hair, and he tugs once, gently this time, which earns him another soft moan. “That’s a thing for you?” 

“Yeah,” Shane nods, nose bumping against Ryan’s. “Guess it is. Surprise.” 

“Best surprise I’ve had in a long time.” He carefully untangles his fingers and drops his hand to Shane’s back, rests it on the warm expanse of skin between his sharp shoulder blades. “You better not have wiped your hand on my sheets.” 

“Too late.” 

“You _dick_.” After a moment of simply letting his hand awkwardly hover in midair, he decides to follow Shane’s lead. 

He’s pretty sure his sheets need to be changed anyways. 

On the other side of the bedroom door, it seems like the party has petered off; the music is a lot quieter, and there are far fewer voices overlapping each other, although he can hear TJ and Zack talking loudly in what must be the kitchen. The thought of venturing back out there for any reason makes him want to groan again, but he’s not going to fall asleep without cleaning himself up first, no matter how exhausted he is. 

On cue, Shane tilts his head down and buries a yawn into the crook of Ryan’s neck. 

“Man, I am _not_ looking forward to walking home,” he mumbles. He sounds so damn tired that Ryan doesn’t think twice before he opens his mouth again. 

“You don’t have to,” he says, tracing over the knobs of Shane’s spine. “Not if you don’t want to. We’ve got some extra toothbrushes under the sink, and you can use my contacts stuff.” 

“Don’t suppose you have a pair of pajamas I could borrow?” Shane asks, and the mental image of Shane’s shins sticking out of a pair of his sweatpants makes Ryan burst out laughing. 

“Sorry, man. Can’t help you there. TJ’s might be a better fit, if you want me to steal a pair from him.” 

“I’m not sure how to deal with the fact you’d rather I get in your roommate’s pants than yours.” 

“I-what?” Ryan stutters, and even though it’s difficult to see, he damn well knows that Shane is grinning at him. “You just got in my pants, asshole!” 

“You know, I wouldn’t do this to you if you weren’t so cute when you’re all worked up.” 

“I’ll take my invitation back,” Ryan mock-threatens, poking Shane hard between the shoulder blades. “You’ll have to walk all the way home and sleep by yourself.” 

“Fine by me. Your bed’s too damn small.” 

“Oh my God, shut _up_. You weren’t complaining about it a few minutes ago.” 

“Fair point. Speaking of, can we maybe clean up? Not that I don’t like you, Ryan, but getting stuck to you isn’t my idea of a good night.” 

“God, that’s so gross,” Ryan mutters, pressing a last kiss to Shane’s cheek before sliding out underneath him. At any other time, a shower would definitely be in order, but he’s pretty sure he’d just end up falling asleep standing under the spray, so he settles for digging out some clean towels from his closet and tossing one across the room at Shane. “You can have a shower if you want.” 

“Pretty sure I’m too tall for your shower. Definitely taking you up on one of those toothbrushes though.” 

They’re both quiet for the next few moments as they get redressed, Ryan in a pair of sweats and a t-shirt and Shane in his clothes from earlier. Ryan lets Shane have first shot at the bathroom, and while he waits, he heads out to the kitchen to grab a glass of water. 

It seems like the party has finally ended; Ryan can’t see anyone in the living room, and the only two people sitting at the kitchen table are TJ and Zack. Zack’s phone is resting at his elbow, right beside a half-full bottle of beer (which just seems like a disaster waiting to happen), and quiet music that is still very much in the vein of the eighties is wafting from it. The two of them are both clutching a handful of playing cards, and for a moment, Ryan thinks that he might actually be able to slip by them without being noticed. 

He’s not that lucky.

“Ryan!” TJ yells, drawing out the word so it’s three syllables longer than usual. “Buddy! How _are_ you?” 

“Doing great, man,” he answers, grabbing a glass from the drying rack and turning the tap on. 

“You _look_ great,” Zack says, pulling two cards from his hand and laying them face-down in the middle of the table. “I’m digging the new additions to your neck.” It takes Ryan a solid few seconds to figure out what the fuck Zack is talking about, but when he rubs at his neck, half a dozen different spots throb. 

Damn Shane and his damn thing for biting.

“I’m so proud of you buddy,” TJ says, grinning lopsidedly, looking for all the world like he’s going to simply slide out of his chair at any moment. “For real. So proud.” 

“Uh-huh,” Ryan says, taking his glass of water and walking out of the room. “Sure thing. Thanks, man.” 

“Love you!” TJ yells after him. Zack echoes him in a considerably quieter voice, and Ryan rolls his eyes as he reaches the bathroom. 

If things keep going the direction they’re headed in, there’s going to be two hungover idiots bumming around the apartment all day. 

Once he’s brushed his teeth and popped his contacts out, he crosses the hallway, takes the sock off the knob, and closes the door. Shane is sprawled in an ungainly tangle of limbs across his bed, legs sticking out from underneath the blanket; the mattress is bare, and the sheets are lying in a ball at the foot of Ryan’s laundry hamper. As Ryan turns off the overhead light again, Shane shuffles over until he’s (mostly) only taking up one side of the bed. 

“Sounds like I’ve got some competition,” he mumbles as Ryan drops onto the bed and steals some of the blanket. 

“What are you talking about?” Ryan asks. Shane tosses one arm over his waist and pulls him even closer, until Ryan’s head is tucked under his chin. 

“Competition. For your love,” he answers, fingers sliding under the hem of Ryan’s shirt and splaying across his lower back. “From Zack and TJ.” 

At any other time, Ryan would just assume he was joking, but Shane’s voice is so quiet and thick with sleep, and he’s not laughing, not in the slightest. The more he thinks about it, the more the words settle into Ryan’s chest, flood him with warmth. 

Obviously, it isn’t the same as _I love you_ , and for that, he’s kind of glad; it’s still a little too early for that, and he doesn’t think he’d be able to say it back, not with any real confidence. 

But he’s not opposed to the fact they seem to be on the way to those three words. Not in the slightest. 

“You know,” he says quietly, closing his eyes and draping his own arm around Shane’s waist, “I think you’re gonna win that competition hands-down.”

**Author's Note:**

> stay tuned for at least one more part in this series!
> 
> as always, I can be found on [tumblr.](http://banshee-cheekbones.tumblr.com/) :)

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Podfic] you want a piece of my heart (you better start from the start)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17061365) by [Shmaylor](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shmaylor/pseuds/Shmaylor)




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